Being famous doesn’t make you a writer – children need books from real authors

Looking for some exciting new books to buy your children? You’re spoilt for choice. Today alone sees the publication of children’s books by such esteemed authors as Peter Andre, Marcus Rashford and Stephen Mangan. There’s also the much-heralded children’s book debut by Jamie Oliver, which came out two weeks ago. And next month, you can buy one by Stephen Mulhern.

Doubtless you’ve noticed what all these authors have in common. But then, it’s hardly unusual. The children’s book market has become utterly swamped by celebrities. And as a parent, I’m sick of it.

Of course, the phenomenon isn’t entirely new. When I was a child, back in the 1980s, none other than Sarah, Duchess of York wrote a children’s book about a talking helicopter. In those days, though, she seemed a peculiar outlier. Nowadays, by contrast, there’s barely a singer, actress or footballer alive who hasn’t been offered a children’s book deal.

Take Madonna. She’s written children’s books. As has Marie Kondo. And Mariah Carey. And Miranda Hart, Geri Halliwell, Frank Lampard, Jessica Ennis-Hill, Konnie Huq, Reese Witherspoon, Cat Deeley, Rebel Wilson, Natalie Portman, Fearne Cotton… Then of course there’s the really big sellers. David Walliams who, when he published his first children’s book in 2008 was already one of the most famous faces on British TV thanks to Little Britain. And Tom Fletcher, formerly the singer with the chart-topping boy band McFly.

Even Meghan got snapped up. It’s now two years since the publication of her debut children’s book, The Bench, a moving meditation on the bond between father and son. Written entirely in verse, it dazzled critics worldwide with such unforgettable couplets as “He’ll learn to ride a bike, as you watch on with pride/ He’ll run and he’ll fall. And he’ll take it in stride”, and “Right there on your bench, the place you’ll call home/ With daddy and son… Where you’ll never be ’lone.” To date, the Duchess has yet to publish a follow-up. But then, great poets are rarely prolific. Philip Larkin managed only a single slim volume every 10 years. Give the artist time.

To be clear: I don’t mean any ill will to these celebrities themselves. If they’re offered a bumper contract to write children’s books, they can hardly be blamed for accepting it. Instead, the people we should be angry with are their pathetically opportunistic publishers.

After all, the money that they’re lavishing on celebrities is money they could be spending on actual writers with actual talent. What if there are brilliant aspiring children’s authors out there who can’t get anywhere near print, simply because every publishing house in London is in a bidding war for the debut picture book by Chelsea’s new number nine?

It’s bad enough for those aspiring authors. But it’s even worse for our children. Imagine if past generations had been denied Richmal Crompton’s Just William stories, because her publishers had signed up Charlie Chaplin, instead. Or if Roald Dahl had been passed over in favour of Englebert Humperdinck.

At this rate, it will soon be impossible to get a children’s book deal unless you’re already famous for something else. Eager teenagers will ask their careers advisers how to go about becoming a successful writer.

And the answer will be: “Learn to sing. Or play for Man Utd.”